Christmas Chemistry Read Online Ella Goode

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Romance, Virgin Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27617 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)

Read Online Books/Novels:

Christmas Chemistry

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Ella Goode

Book Information:

It’s time for the ho-ho-holidays and while this is one of my favorite times of the year, I’m feeling a little off. My mom has gone on a well-deserved cruise and I’m alone, starting a new position to be the assistant of famed researcher Dr. Nathan Amherst.
The department secretary says he’s terrible and they have to hire new assistants all the time which is why I’m starting at the end of the term. She’s all but begging me to overlook his bad habits and nasty temper.
I could’ve endured those things, but I wasn’t prepared to for him to be the science version of John Wick. He’s so gorgeous and so smart and I’m so attracted to him that I’m worried I won’t be able to keep my hands off of him.
I need this job but it’s already in jeopardy—and so I am!
Books by Author:

Ella Goode


Dr. Nathan Amherst

“I don’t need an assistant.”

“Too late. She’ll be here in about ten minutes. Don’t be a dick to her, or the university will pull your funding,” Rachel, our department secretary, warns.

With disgust, I toss down my pen and glare at the older woman over the top of my glasses. “I never asked for an assistant, and therefore, no one should be upset when I fire her.”

“You can’t fire her. She’s an employee of the university and was hired by Dean Campbell.”

“Then she can go service Dean Campbell.” I pick up my pen and return to re-reading my paper on rapid growth hydroponics for retail consumers. Most efficient hydroponic farms are thousands of square feet big. This new prototype I’m developing could be installed in kitchen cabinets and grow everything from tomatoes and lettuce to berries and oranges. Imagine never having to go to the grocery store again—the utter dream. I hate shopping and try and get delivery whenever I can. Usually it just takes a small bribe.

“See, that’s just the type of attitude that is going to result in a lawsuit. This is a bio technology graduate student, not a sex worker. You can’t treat her like one.”

“Meaning I shouldn’t treat her like a bio tech student or a sex worker? Your pronoun references two possible objects.” There’s not enough in the paper about the labor and transportation costs. I need to run a few more numbers and scenarios. Abandoning the printout, I switch over to the computer and pull up the database. It’ll take hours to crunch some numbers, hours that would be better spent on researching. I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“Dr. Amherst. Did you hear what I said?”

“That I can’t fire the assistant? Yeah.” I wave my hand toward the door, wanting Rachel to get out and leave me alone so I can work.

“No. I said that the south elevator—you know what? Never mind.” The door bangs behind her when she leaves.

I shake my head. People are always mad around here, and I have no fucking clue why. If everyone did their work and left all the other people alone, we would all be happier. I should put that in the suggestion box we have in the breakroom. No socializing during work hours. In fact, the breakroom itself should be abolished. I nod emphatically to myself. Brilliant idea. I switch to a document program, type up my suggestion, and send it off to the printer. On the device is a paper copy of the latest headhunter inquiry. Dr. Amherst, I get so many inquiries as to whether you’d be interested in moving to the private sector. Not only are the benefits and pay better, but the R&D budgets would make a grown scientist weep. Give me—I crumple it and grab my breakroom breakthrough. I’ll drop it off on my way home tonight, thereby avoiding people in the breakroom, delivering my recommendation, and leaving work all in one efficient economy of movement. With that problem solved, I reapply myself to my work. I’m deep into grams per growth and total dissolved solids, or TDS as we call them, when the phone rings. I let it go to voicemail, but it rings again. And again. By the fourth loop, I realize that the person is not going to give up. It’s probably Rachel calling to remind me of some faculty function that I will be blowing off.

“Yeah?” I bark into the phone.

“Your assistant is here. I’m sending her in. Remember! No lawsuits.” Rachel hangs up, and five seconds later, there’s a knock on my door.

“Come in,” I sigh. A quick survey of my office has me pushing my hand through my dark hair. It’s a disaster in here, and the second desk near the door is covered with papers. I walk over and start to clear things away—and by clear, I mean shifting the piles of paper on the desk to the floor. She can sort through things. After all, isn’t that why they are giving me an assistant?

The door creaks open. “Dr. Amherst.”

I don’t bother looking up but instead gesture her toward the desk. “Yes. This is the right place. This is your desk.” I knock a fist on the top of the wood. “Did Rachel give you a computer? Just set up here. Sorry about the mess. I guess that will be the first task for you. Once you’re done, I have some modeling you can do. You do know how to do that?” I raise my head and lock eyes with a goddess. An orchestra starts playing in my head. Sunlight in the dank office appears to surround her. If Rachel were to arrive and tell me that this person dropped from the sky and there are a pair of wings in the south lawn, I’d nod in acceptance. That would be a perfectly reasonable explanation.